


Dead On Arrival

by superangsty



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, More Tags as I update, Multi, Multiple Pov, Slow Build, everyone is gay tbh, except ross he can choke, of chandler and joey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-06-26 23:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15673101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superangsty/pseuds/superangsty
Summary: You can't get a date, your friends all hate each other, and oh right - you've just been stuck with a roommate who's an even bigger mess than you. But hey, at least your outfits are cute.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> idk man, this fic has been in the works for a while, and I figure the best way to motivate myself to write it is to POST it, so here ya go!

Rachel Green is getting married today.

It’s not a big deal, Monica keeps telling herself. It’s not a big deal that she’s sitting in the coffee house, listening to Chandler talk about his dumb fucking dreams, whilst her parents are probably taking their seats for the ceremony at the Plaza.

It’s also not a big deal that they were invited when she, Rachel’s childhood best friend, was not. Because hell, even the Plaza could only hold so many people, and their parents go way back. They see each other at the country club every weekend, and when was the last time Monica had even _seen_ Rachel?

So no, it’s not a big deal.

One person Monica knows is getting married, and another walks in miserable because his ex-wife is moving her stuff out today. It feels very balanced, very New York.

Except he’s whining and saying he wants to be married again, and the door swings open.

Rachel Green walks into the coffee house, and Monica forgets how to breathe.

She’s wound up and rambling and soaking wet, and oh yeah. She’s in a wedding dress that looks like it’s been dragged halfway through the park. Monica doesn’t know what to do.

Once she seems to have calmed down, Monica quietly suggests that they go upstairs. Rachel – loud, fiery Rachel – just nods, eyes hollow. Monica rests a hand on the small of her back and leads her upstairs. She’s not thinking too hard about it. It’s not a big deal.

As everyone files into Monica’s apartment, Chandler gets a hold of her arm, keeping her back in the hallway.

“So,” He raises an eyebrow. Monica wants to punch him. “Big date tonight.”

Right. The date. Paul. The wine guy. Something curls up in Monica’s stomach, and it takes everything she has not to reel back as if she’d been hit. She smiles instead. “Yup!”

“Funny, ‘cause a few months ago you said you might be ready to –“

Monica cuts him off. “Stop.” Chandler opens his mouth to protest, and she holds up a hand. “Just _stop_.”

His expression softens, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Y’know, you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” she replies, and it’s so forceful that she almost believes it. “Why are you even bringing this up? I’m fine.”

 

*

 

It’s funny, nobody ever tells you when your world’s gonna turn upside down.

Rachel’s life had been perfect. She’d gone to a decent college, gotten some bullshit degree that she didn’t have to put much thought into because it wasn’t like she was ever gonna _use_ it, and she’d found the perfect guy: not wildly attractive but definitely not ugly, came from a good Jewish family in Long Island, just like her, and, of course, he was an orthodontist. Which, when you think about it, is really the most important part.

She hadn’t planned on walking out of her wedding. She _definitely_ hadn’t planned on trudging through the grimy streets of Manhattan to go find Monica Geller.

And yet, not even two hours after she was meant to be saying ‘I do’, she found herself sitting in a purple apartment being stared at by people she barely knew.

Her father had been upset, of course. Who wouldn’t be, after spending $40,000 for her to not even walk down the aisle? He’d said that love didn’t matter but it _did_ , it _had_ to, because otherwise she’d just be the idiot who’d walked out on her dream life.

Or what she’d thought was her dream life, anyway.

But she’s sitting with these guys, and none of them are married and none of them are rich, but they’re happy anyway. And she thinks, just maybe, that she gets it.

Everyone is talking and laughing and joking and she’s lost, she’s so completely lost, and she sticks out like a sore thumb in her filthy dress but it doesn’t feel _bad_. They look at her with grins on their faces and there’s no judgement there, no expectation. Nobody’s waiting for her to prove that she belongs here because it feels like she already does, and _this._ This, she could get used to. This, she could build a life out of.

Here. With Monica.

 

*

 

Rachel goes to bed early, because everyone’s gone out and it’s not like she’s got anything else to do. She changes into the clothes she’d found neatly folded at the end of her bed, and buries herself under the soft covers.

Manhattan is loud, even at night. Rachel doesn’t sleep.

The next morning, she rises to what sounds like two bulls crashing around the kitchen. On closer inspection, though, it turns out to just be those two guys from across the hall. Huh.

She leans against her doorframe, arms crossed and eyebrow raised. “Don’t you guys have your own kitchen?”

The Italian one – what was his name again? – shrugs, and sits down. “Yeah, but we’ve not been shopping in a while.” He turns to face the other one. Chandler, she remembers. Ross’ weird old college roommate. The Italian guy looks at him pointedly. “And I want coffee.”

Chandler rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile there, and he turns to the counter. “Cuppa joe for Joe, coming up.”

Rachel jumps up, striding over excitedly. “Can I make it?” She was buzzing, relief washing over her that she could finally be of use. “Oh, please? I’ve never made coffee before, I wanna try!”

How hard could it be, right?

Chandler, much to her surprise, waves her ahead and sits down. He hums as he opens up the paper, occasionally swatting Joey’s hand away from it.

She messes it up, but if the guys notice they don’t say anything, and she dumps enough sugar in her own that it’s almost bearable.

Then Monica’s there and she won’t stop grinning, and it turns out that they all have jobs which makes sense, of _course_ it does, because that’s how normal people afford stuff, and Chandler’s teasing Joey and laughing as he dances out the door, and it hits her. She’s home.

 

*

*

*

 

Chandler officially comes out near the end of his first semester at college. Not to his parents, because fuck them, but to his friends. Well, friend. Singular. Ross.

Ross is weird. He’s hyper and over-enthusiastic and way more confident than he has a right to be, and for the first couple of weeks of their rooming together Chandler thinks that he might be, well. Like him.

But Ross points out cute girls on campus, stammers when they talk to him, and is generally just your typical nerdy straight guy. Chandler loves him for it. Until he tricks him into a date with a girl in their psych class, and Chandler gets so flustered that he storms out halfway through the movie and goes back to their dorm, spending the next twenty minutes stumbling out an explanation that he’s kinda slightly gay, okay, so stop setting him up with girls.

He braces himself for a freak-out that never comes, because Ross just squeezes his shoulder with a “sure thing, dude,” before he turns back to his homework.

Two days into winter break and Chandler’s had enough of his mother, so he calls Ross and asks if he can come down and spend Hanukkah in Long Island. Ross says sure. His parents try and set him up with Ross’ baby sister and he laughs awkwardly, and he makes dumb jokes, and he keeps doing that until he’s back in Ross’ room and they’ve snuck up a bottle of rum and then Ross presses their lips together and Chandler doesn’t know what to do because it’s his first kiss with a boy, his first kiss _ever_ , so they just laugh it off and never mention it again.

Then they’re back at NYU, and Chandler sometimes meets boys to hang out with and sometimes he makes out with them too, but it’s never anything more than that because it’s not quite the nineties yet and guys like him are _terrified_ , all too aware of their own mortality.

Ross gets a girlfriend, and she’s beautiful and smart and dear _god_ , so loud, but Ross seems happy until one day he doesn’t. He comes home freaked out because she’s told him that she used to be a guy, and he’s saying “but I’m not gay” over and over. Chandler sighs and explains to him that no, he’s not, because he’s dating a _girl_.

When Ross calms down he climbs onto Chandler, kissing him frantically. They do stuff that Chandler’s only ever done on his own, and Ross laughs awkwardly the whole way through.

“Guess I’m really _not_ gay.” He looks at Chandler, as if the whole thing is somehow _funny_. “But thanks, dude.”

Chandler rolls his eyes. “Anytime, _bro_.” His chest clenches. He doesn’t say anything.

The next day, Ross introduces him to the girlfriend Chandler had convinced him not to break up with, and that’s how he becomes friends with Janice Litman.

Chandler thinks, in another life, he could’ve really loved Janice. She breaks up with Ross a couple weeks later because he’s been staring too much at this blonde girl on the lacrosse team.

Her name is Carol, and Ross has _very_ loud, very frequent sex with her. Chandler buys her coffee, and she asks him about being gay. He doesn’t think anything of it, at the time. Why would he? She’s just some girl that’s screwing his friend.

But then she’s the girl that’s _marrying_ his friend, and he takes Kip as his plus one and tries not to notice everyone staring at them together on the dance floor. That night is the first time he goes all the way with a guy.

The next morning, Kip tells him he’s going on a date with a girl he met at the wedding. A month later, he’s moving out to get married. Chandler never gets a wedding invite.

Janice drags him out to watch a play, because he’s been moping too much and besides, it’s her cousin’s first starring part and she wants to support him. The theatre is tiny and dirty, the play is terrible.

At the after party, Chandler spills his drink on someone and he looks up to see the lead actor, Janice’s cousin. The guy smiles. Chandler does the manly thing, and runs away.

The next day, he answers his door to find the same guy, and he’s gonna kill Janice for giving away his address, but then the guy says “How you doin’,” and Chandler’s a little bit in love with him already.

After a few months of truly awful dating, Joey moves in. It’s perfect.

Chandler runs into the new girl from accounting in the breakroom one day. Her name is Susan and he invites her for drinks with his friends.

A year later, Ross is getting divorced. He blames Chandler.

Which is fair, because Chandler blames himself, too.

 

*

 

It wasn’t meant to go like this, Chandler thinks. There’s a weight sitting at the bottom of his stomach, churning up everything inside and _god_ , he feels like a kid again, torn between two people so wrapped up in spiting each other that they don’t even see the guilt that’s eating him alive, or the pain that they’re causing him.

Looking back, his parents’ divorce, whilst flooding his surroundings with anger and bitterness, was actually quite painless. Neither parent had held any interest or involvement in the others life. They had no mutual friends to fight over, and once his father had fucked off to Vegas, in an entirely different state, it became apparent that he wasn’t going to fight for the house or the kid he’d left behind.

His mother shipped him off to boarding school and made a point of travelling whenever he was meant to be on break, and that was that. Simple, unattached.

Now, however, he’s sitting in a coffee shop on his lunch break, watching his best friend’s ex-wife order drinks, and he can’t relax because if a member of the gang were to walk in and see him with her, they’d never forgive him.

“You look like you killed a kitten,” Carol says, setting Chandler’s drink in front of him.

“Ha,” he says, because he doesn’t really feel like laughing. “Something like that.”

She looks at him sadly. “You’re allowed to have friends outside of your group.”

Chandler almost bursts out laughing. Or into tears. He’s not quite sure which. “Not if that friend is _you._ Ross gets us, you get Susan’s friends.”

“That plan was never fair. Besides, as much as I love Susan, her friends can be a little…”

“Intense?” Carol nods. “How is she, by the way?”

“She’s good…” Carol looks away, gazing out the window. “I’m pregnant.”

Chandler almost drops his coffee.

It wasn’t meant to go like this. Ross and Carol were meant to be that sickeningly sweet couple, holding hands and reminiscing about the good old days when they were well into their nineties. Ross should have been sitting next to her right now, beaming with pride while they told Chandler the good news. Chandler was meant to be godfather, and Joey was meant to make Al Pacino jokes.

They’d had it all _planned out_. As long as he’d known Carol, that had always been the plan. Unspoken, but still there.

He breathes. “Have you told him?”

She looks down into her coffee, and that’s all the answer he needs.

Without another word, Chandler leaves the coffee shop and goes to buy a pack of cigarettes.

 


	2. Candy fucking cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaaat? An update?? Finally???????  
> Sorry this took so long, you guys!!!! Life has been crazy, etc etc.  
> Thank you all SO MUCH for your lovely comments, I'm really glad you're liking my dumb fic so far!

Chandler wakes up with a headache.

Amazing, he thinks, how in the space of a week he’s already back to being the kind of smoker he was at his very worst – the kind who can’t even _sleep_ for more than a couple hours before withdrawal starts to shake his entire body.

Joey’s not in bed, which means it’s well past what might be considered sensible to wake up, even for a Saturday, so he reaches blindly for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table.

His lighter is halfway to his mouth before he realises that something isn’t right. The damn thing tastes like sugar.

He spits his cigarette – his candy _fucking_ cigarette – out of his mouth and scrambles out of bed, frantically searching every hiding place he can think of. Nothing.

The note pad just says ‘ _gone to an audition!’_ with a doodle of a heart, and Chandler is filled with so much rage he almost rips it off the door.

Kicking it seems as good a compromise as any, so he does that and goes back into his room, pulling on pants and shoes before practically running out the door and down to the street.

The guy in the bodega won’t sell him cigarettes. Chandler gives him fifty dollars to buy them anyway, because his skin is _itching_ and he can’t wait the few minutes it would take to find another store.

Chandler feels the tension leave him as soon as he takes a drag, feeling the warm smoke fall into his lungs and fill them up. He can just imagine the nicotine slowly seeping into his veins, turning his blood into liquid gold.

He chain smokes three of them, and then heads back into the apartment building.

He has another one at the top of the stairs – better to be safe than sorry – and then glides into Monica’s apartment.

She’s not there. Rachel is, though.

“You stink,” she says, looking at him warily.

Chandler ignores her. “Good morning to you too.” He pours himself a coffee and flops down onto the sofa. “Where’s Mon?”

“Shopping. She’ll be back soon, go take a shower.”

He drains his coffee, flips her the bird, and leaves.

By the time he’s showered, dressed, and had another smoke, Monica is home and buzzing round the apartment. She appears not to even notice him when he enters, so he wanders over to where Joey is sat watching TV.

“Hey, good lookin’,” teases Joey, and so Chandler sits as far away from him as possible.

If Chandler were a lesser person, and if he was still hung up about the stupid candy fucking cigarettes, he would say something like: “I’m not talking to you.”

So he does.

Joey just raises an eyebrow. “Mmhmm.”

Truth is, he’s not really in an arguing mood. But even though Joey looks calm, Chandler’s pretty sure he’s ready to bite. And it’s too tempting to resist, so he gestures at the TV. “You know, we have one of these things in _our_ apartment.”

Joey just looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Thought you weren’t talking to me?”

He sneers and shakes his head, turning towards the kitchen. “Mon, is there any breakfast?”

She sighs. “Lunch.”

“Okay, is there any lunch?”

“Make your own lunch, asshole. I’m busy,” is Monica’s reply, accompanied by a tomato thrown towards Chandler’s head.

He catches it and bites into it like an apple, reaching for the phone. “Ha. I’ll just ask Janice to bring me some.”

At this, Joey leans across the couch to swat Chandler’s arm. “Ooh, can she get some for me too?”

“Get your own Janice.”

“She’s _my_ cousin!”

“And when was the last time you spoke to her?”

“Um.”

“She tells me everything. _Everything_.”

“Don’t call Janice,” Monica finally cuts in, sounding on the verge of tears at the thought. “Please. I _cannot_ deal with her today.”

“Hey!” object Joey and Chandler, in unison.

Rachel finally speaks up, voice wavering with confusion. “Who’s Janice?”

“My cousin,” Joey says, shooting a glare at Chandler.

“The love of my life, the future mother of my children” Chandler deadpans, before hopping out of his seat. “Maybe I’ll go hang out with her, huh? _She_ says it’s _sexy_ when I smoke!”

Joey runs a hand down his face. “And I’m sure her saying that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you give her free cigarettes.” There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, and it digs its way under Chandler’s skin.

“Shut up,” he replies, because there’s no _actual_ way to justify the smoking thing, and they both know it.

 “Out. Both of you. Now. Fuck off.”

 

*

 

It’s barely two o’clock and already Monica’s patience has been pushed to the limits. She can still hear Joey and Chandler bickering out in the hallway, and she wants to _scream_. She’s just glad she got them out before their argument stops being playful.

She loves them, really. She does. It’s just that her parents will be round in four hours, she’s not done cleaning the apartment, and Rachel is taking so long laying the pasta for the lasagne they’ll be lucky if it’s done by Christmas.

“I didn’t know Chandler had a girlfriend,” Rachel says off-hand, leaning back in her chair to get the next pack of pasta from the counter.

Monica can barely even process that sentence. The thought that Rachel must be joking crosses her mind, but vanishes at the sight of Rachel’s expectant face, waiting for an answer.

But she must –

How could she not –

Surely she’s not _against_ –

“Um,” Monica replies, because she figures she needs to say something. “Um.”

Rachel frowns and makes her way over to Monica. “You alright, hon?”

Monica, still trying to process, says nothing. This was Ross’ fault, it had to be. He was the only one who shuffled uncomfortably when Chandler’s hand lingered on Joey’s a second too long, who cleared his throat uncomfortably whenever Phoebe talked about any cute girls she’d met.

They must have all quietly changed their behaviour, somewhere along the way. Huh.

“What, you don’t like her? What was her name, Jane?”

“Janice! Janice?” _Janice._ “No, no, she’s not – “ There’s a cruel little voice in her head telling her how funny it would be to keep Rachel in the dark. Monica ignores it.

Rachel smirks and pokes Monica in the arm, sing-songing “are you jeeaalous? Does Monica love Chaaandler?”

“ _No!_ ” shit. Another, more sane voice in her head reminds her that if she mentions that maybe everyone isn’t quite so straight, Rachel will freak out. Or get weird about it, like Ross. Hell, this girl had probably never even _met_ a gay person, besides Carol in retrospect. Maybe it was best to just. Skirt around the truth. “Chandler doesn’t… have. A girlfriend.”

 “Do you?”

Monica’s heart stops. Like actually, physically, stops. _“What?_ ”

She can’t decide whether she’s relieved or disappointed when Rachel doesn’t notice her reaction, instead just chuckling and waving her off. “No, no. I mean, are you seeing someone?”

“Um.”

“It’s just – I’ve only been living with you a couple weeks, I just realised.” She shakes her head. “I just realised I don’t know anything about your life anymore. About _anyone’s_.”

 

*

 

“You’re a dick.”

Chandler smirks and shoves his hands in his pockets. “So leave me,” he says, doing that little wiggle he does when he thinks he’s being witty.

There’s a very fine line between love and hate, Joey thinks. Or at least, he thinks he said it in a play, once.

He understands it now, though, because he’s mad. He’s _so_ mad, but he looks at Chandler and it’s hard to remember why. He walks past Chandler to their front door.

“I love you,” he sighs.

This is it, this is the line. Chandler’s expression turns grim, his eye contact unwavering. “Sorry I’m such a disappointment.” He huffs, taking a cigarette out of his pocket.

Joey’s stomach clenches. He walks inside and slams the door behind him.

When Joey first met him, Chandler was a mess. His clothes were mismatched, hanging even looser on him than they did now. He would ramble on and on about nothing in particular, telling stupid self-deprecating jokes and never _actually_ saying anything sincere. Joey had assumed he was kind of an asshole, but when you combined that snark with the cigarette always glowing in his hand, dear _god_ he was hot.

The first time Joey said ‘I love you,’, Chandler said ‘bullshit’ and ran away.

The next time they saw each other was when Chandler showed up at his door a week later, carrying empty cardboard boxes and a newly cut apartment key. He’d rolled up his sleeve to show Joey a line of nicotine patches. ‘This’, he’d said with a grin. ‘This is how crazy I am for you.’

Now Joey’s sitting at the kitchen table trying to work out what all this _means_.

He sits frozen in place, staring at the door. Can’t even bring himself to turn on the TV. He’s in such a haze that he doesn’t even notice when Chandler walks in an hour later, not until he claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Joe.”

Joey quietly blinks up at him. “Yeah.”

“Joe.” Chandler’s hand runs down his arm, tracing the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I got the part,” Joey says, staring intently at the table. “It’s a musical. I’m playing some guy called Freud.”

“Freud.”

“Yup.”

He hears Chandler huff, and he can practically _hear_ his smirk when he says, “they’re making a musical about _Freud_.”

Much to his disdain, Joey feels himself start to warm up. “What?” He swats at Chandler with a grin, heart swelling when Chandler gives this relieved little chuckle. “What could you _possibly_ have against some random psychic guy?”

“Psychiatrist.” Chandler reaches a hand up to scruff Joey’s hair. “You wanna go to the library? Find some books on him?”

Joey’s still kinda mad.

He nods anyway, because he fucking _loves_ the library, especially when Chandler’s there with him.

Standing up to go get his jacket, he pauses. “Could you maybe, ah. Could you maybe not smoke? When we’re walking?”

Chandler rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile there anyway. “Sure, Joe.”

 

*

 

Walking home, Chandler has the bag full of books Joey picked out slung across his shoulder, because the smile Joey gives him when he offers to carry them is just about enough to distract from the itching feeling of needing to smoke.

Joey is _so_ excited for this role. The entire walk he’s chatting about what he’s learnt so far from reading the backs of the books. Chandler is more than happy to just walk along and listen, not having given much thought to Freud since he took a psych class in college where the professor walked into the first lecture and declared ‘Freud is bullshit’.

They stop at a streetlight. Joey goes quiet for a second, smiling over at Chandler.

“Hold my hand?”

“No,” he says simply, and paces ahead of Joey to cross the street.

Joey does a little trot to catch up with him, hopping about to try get Chandler’s attention. “C’mon, please? I’m cold.”

“It’s September,” Chandler says, but he’s slowing down his walk. He doesn’t mention that the last time they tried this, two different people yelled at them from across the street.

He offers his hand anyway. Joey takes it.

Less than a minute later, he hears someone yell out “Guys!”, and immediately springs away.

Joey rolls his eyes at him, then turns and waves. “Pheebs! Hey!”

Chandler’s hand is trembling. God, he really needs a smoke.

He and Joey stop for a moment, allowing Phoebe to trot to catch up with them. He draws her into a quick one-armed hug, then frowns.

“Thought you were walking over with Ross after work.”

“Eh,” Phoebe replies, waving a hand in vague dismissal. “Ran into Carol outside the museum. She said he was mid freak-out, so I figured, well, y’know…”

Joey grimaces. “Yikes. Good call.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up later,” she says with a shrug.

Chandler walks a pace or so ahead of them for the last two blocks of their walk, letting Joey launch into conversation about Freud all over again now that he had Phoebe as a captive audience.

As soon as they get up to their floor of the building, Rachel swings the door open, looking frantically between the three of them.

“Have any of you seen my engagement ring?”

Sarcastic comments started pushing to the front of Chandler’s mind. Yes, it was hard _not_ to see it. Oh, you mean the one with the fake diamonds? Sure, they’re selling it in bulk at the dollar store.

Phoebe, however, is the first to reply. “Yeah, it’s beautiful,” she says, looking confused when Rachel lets out a frustrated breath and walks back inside.

They follow her inside to utter chaos. There’s a timer on in the kitchen, giving a menacing ticking as the backdrop to Rachel rummaging around the apartment, upturning everything there is, whilst Monica hovers anxiously behind her to tidy up.

Rachel seems deaf to all their advice, which is probably fair since all Chandler’s really _doing_ is making unhelpfully sarcastic comments. Though really, can you blame him? He’s not smoked in four hours, it’s _hell_.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe this!” she mutters as she rushes around. “I’ve ruined everything! Rachel, you _idiot_ , walking out on a wedding and then I don’t even _keep_ the stupid _ring_?”

Chandler’s not really sure what happens, but he snaps.

"Oh, for fuck's sake Rachel. At least you _had_ a wedding to walk out on."

Everyone freezes. Joey looks at Chandler. Phoebe looks at Monica. Monica looks at Rachel. Rachel just looks lost.

The timer goes off.

Rachel’s eyes widen. She rushes over to the lasagne.

“Oh, Monica, don’t be mad…”

She might as well have just signed her own death warrant.

Chandler quietly guides Monica to the sofa whilst the other three start digging through the pasta. It’s a fairly swift operation; before he’s even sat down, Rachel is rushing to the sink to clean it off and Joey is reaching for a fork.

 

*

 

Ross, as is the norm for him these days, arrives moping. And also late, because Monica had _specifically_ said to get there at least half an hour before their parents are due, and it’s ten to six.

Carol is pregnant.

Thing is, Monica doesn’t really have time to dwell on what the hell that _means_ , because she’s got to shepherd her friends out of the apartment and do one last tidy of the place before her parents arrive, exactly five minutes late.

She wonders, sometimes, if they do that on purpose. Wait outside knowing she’s stressing and then sweep in without a care in the world.

 _How_ can Carol be pregnant?

They put their jackets in Rachel’s room, despite Monica’s protest that really, the coat rack works fine. Probably just wanted to see where the demon queen herself lives.

The very fact that throughout drinks and appetisers her parents are very specifically not mentioning Rachel, or the fact that she’s living in the apartment, just goes to show how obsessed everyone back home must still be. It’s the only reason they came, anyway.

They clearly don’t care about the divorce ( _how_ , when Carol said she and Ross had barely slept together the past two years) – instead just joking that their perfect wonderful genius son was just _born_ to be a playboy, nor do they care about Monica’s life, or they’d have made some kind of effort to speak to her between now and last Christmas.

So that’s all it can be. Rachel.

All Monica gets to talk or even think about these days is her, anyway.

They’re finishing up their pasta, and Monica really wishes they would just hurry up, so that she can clear up, serve them dessert, and get them out as quickly as possible. There’s only so many blows to her self-esteem she can take.

Ross hasn’t even _tried_ to stand up for Monica, or at least move the conversation away from her. Why would he, when they’re still showering him with praise. Monica’s tempted to just tell them herself: about Susan, the baby, everything.

She’s pretty sure they don’t actually believe lesbians exist, so it’s not like any of that would reflect poorly on Ross. They’d just be thrilled that they’re _finally_ getting a grandchild, even though it seems fairly clear that Ross is gonna be this kid’s father only in title. He’s just too much of a coward to admit it.

In the end, Ross does tell them.

They still blame Monica.

To be honest, though. She’s kinda relieved. At least they didn’t want to stay for dessert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the next chapter, R*ss will be dealt with. Sort of. I hope.  
> As always, please leave comments/kudos to let me know you liked it!!!


	3. Coming out of my cage and I've been doing just fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, hey, an update! It's been like,, two months? Oops? (TO BE FAIR I did start a new job and am currently in the process of moving so like, go easy on me.) Enjoy!

“If you never smoke again I’ll give you seven thousand dollars!”

Which, okay, yeah. That could work.

To be honest, Chandler would’ve done it for a lot less. But Phoebe doesn’t need to know that, and he gives Joey’s knee a quick squeeze as he sits back down, grinning up at him. Hello, Rangers season tickets.

 

*

 

Rachel is so, so tired.

She’s been in the city for a month. She works for over fifty hours a week, barely ever getting breaks, serving assholes coffee and giving them her prettiest smiles in the hopes that they’ll tip her. They never do.

The other waitresses barely talk to her, always giving her the side-eye and accidentally-on-purpose bumping into her when she’s carrying a full tray of drinks. Her manager picks and picks at every tiny mistake she makes, takes her out to the back and yells at her every time she lets her frustration slip in front of the customers.

And for what? A cheque that can just about cover rent and all her bills, leaving absolutely nothing left over for her to actually _spend_. God, she can barely remember a time before she couldn’t walk into a store without wanting to cry.

Every day she goes back up to the apartment and collects mail covered in forwarding stickers from Barry’s address, and messages on the phone from her parents ordering her to come home.

It might have been sweet if they were actually missing her, but she knew that wasn’t it. Her father calls with bribes of cars and boats and jewellery, her mother calls on the verge of tears every time she gets back from the country club. Again, not because she misses Rachel, but because she’s so _humiliated_ that her own daughter would commit the biggest social faux-pas of the decade.

Monica tries to help. In the first couple of days, she’s the one who helps Rachel sneak into Barry’s house in the middle of the day, collect as much of her stuff as she can and leave the key. When Rachel realises that her ‘Long Island housewife’ clothes aren’t really making sense anymore, she sorts through her closet and gives Rachel anything she can bear to part with.

Whenever they’re both off work, she drags Rachel out to share her favourite parts of the city. They go out to bars, parties, restaurant openings. At all of them, Monica takes her by the hand and leads her over to introduce her to her other friends, who take one look at her and share knowing looks.

She’s normally too overwhelmed by the event to notice Monica glaring at them while they do.

Being around Monica was becoming almost _too_ easy. It was like high school all over again, but… no. High school wasn’t like this, high school was terrifying.

High school was getting up at six every morning to run, because if the head cheerleader couldn’t be thin and fit and pretty then who could? It was begging her father to increase the limit on her credit card as she desperately tried to keep up with constantly changing fashion. Sitting in Monica’s room eating cake, trying to stop her from crying when clothes didn’t fit quite right. It was driving Monica to school in her flashy car and then spending the rest of the day pretending they didn’t know each other.

Rachel doesn’t wear much jewellery anymore. It’s been forever since she drove a car. The New York air feels suffocating when she tries to run, so her hips (and the rest of her, really) are starting to fill out. When she looks at Monica she realises that for the first time in their lives, Rachel is jealous of _her_ life, and not the other way ‘round.

Thing is, every time Rachel starts to feel jealous of Monica, she can’t stop the bubble of pride that rises up with it. Because Monica, _her_ Monica, is finally in such a good place that Rachel is jealous of her. She likes her job, she’s surrounded by friends that love her, and she moves with a confidence that Rachel never used to see.

Meanwhile, a week ago Rachel had spent an hour crying because she’d got a pimple and realised she couldn’t afford to go for a facial.

She’s got a dirty apron on and her hair scraped back into a bun when her friends ( _are_ they still her friends?) walk into the coffee shop. They look her up and down, lips pursed and eyebrows raised, and don’t even pretend to try hide the knowing looks they share.

Poor Rachel, got cut off for leaving a guy at the altar. Forced to work in a cheap coffee shop like some kind of backwards Cinderella story. Not even wearing any makeup.

Later, when they’re sitting in a restaurant Rachel _really_ hopes one of them is paying for, Leslie puts a hand on her arm, tilts her head, and says “Are you like, _okay_ , Rachel? You don’t need any… ‘help’, or something?”

Rachel frowns. “I mean, it’d be nice to have a cleaner or something, but I’m good!” She sweeps a hand through her hair, flashing them a smile when their worried looks don’t go. “Monica’s been really great, y’know, and I’m making new friends…”

Kiki draws in a sharp breath, cutting her off. “Honey, your parents told us,” she starts, sharing glances with the other two. “About the breakdown? All the problems you’ve been having?”

Of course they did. Of fucking course. “Huh,” Rachel replies, jaw clenched.

Leslie puts on a big, fake smile. “But look at you! You’re fine! You’re _good_ , you said so yourself! So just – come home.” She squeezes Rachel’s hand. “It’s that simple.”

Rachel slowly pulls her arm out of her friends reach, pushing back her chair. “I’m not going back,” she says, slowly, since they seemed not to understand the first hundred times she said it. “I like it here, I’m happy.”

She stands up, shrugging on her jacket. “Have a nice day, or whatever.”

 

*

 

Walk ten seconds, stop. Listen to Ross lament about Carol. Tell him he’s being pathetic, continue walking. Repeat.

It’s not that Chandler doesn’t feel bad for the guy, really, it’s not. It’s just that he has been having the same conversation, over and over, for the past five months (six, if you include when Ross stopped talking to him), and it’s starting to get annoying.

Also, it’s making them run late for the Rangers game, which Ross wasn’t even meant to be _coming to._ He and Joey had just got a seat for him near theirs at the last minute because they thought it might stop the moping.

Chandler does not want to hear about Ross and Carol’s first time having sex. He heard about it enough after it actually happened, he doesn’t need to hear it again eight years later.

When they get to the stadium Joey pulls him aside and tells him to stop being so bitchy. Chandler rolls his eyes and says he will if he can have a cigarette. Joey glares, steals his popcorn, and walks back over to Ross.

The Rangers win, of course. Not that Chandler was there to see it, because they have to take Ross to the fucking emergency room.

The second Ross goes off to see the doctor, Joey drapes his legs across Chandler’s lap. “I can’t believe we had to miss the second half for _this_ ,” he groans, resting his head on his shoulder.

“It’s not _so_ bad, right?” Chandler asks, awkwardly patting Joey’s shoulder. “I mean, our best friend got the puck, and the night is still young! We can go out for dinner later, yeah?”

 “Why are you so calm?” Joey frowns up at him and takes a sniff. “Did you smoke?”

“No, asshole, I’m just glad I’m getting to spend time with you, even like this.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They spend a couple minutes in silence, Chandler slowly working through page upon page of paperwork for Ross whilst Joey picks at his coat.

He can do it almost like clockwork, at this point. He’s known Ross for the better part of a decade, this is not the first time he’s had to do this. He knows Ross’ social security number, his insurance details, and, of course, he knows that Carol is still listed as his emergency contact. Again: pathetic.

“Can you imagine?” Joey mutters, breaking the silence.

Chandler keeps scratching away with his pen, not quite paying attention. “Huh?”

Joey swings his legs off of Chandler, putting his feet back on the ground. “You know, only sleeping with one woman. In your _entire_ life.”

“It’s more than I have,” Chandler replies with a smirk, which earns him a swat to his arm. “Look, Joe, I don’t know. I think it’s sweet.”

He does, actually, but Joey won’t believe him. The idea of finding The One, and on the first try, is just… nice. It’s not what happened with Ross and Carol, and Ross was a fucking idiot for thinking it was, but still. Nice.

Joey raises an eyebrow. “Come _on_ , man. Think about it. I mean, _really_ think about it. Imagine only getting to sleep with _one person_ for your _entire life_.”

Something drops in Chandler’s chest. He ignores it. “Yeah, dude’s a freak.”

That makes Joey laugh, which was the goal, and they’re both still smiling when Ross walks in, steel monstrosity taped to his face.

 

*

 

When everyone’s left her apartment after the night of drinking and board games, Monica goes to bed without doing the dishes in the sink. She’s still somewhere just over the ‘too drunk to give a shit’ threshold, and it’s not like she won’t have time to do them tomorrow anyway.

So she goes to sleep without doing the dishes, and dreams of germs rising up out of the sink and spreading across the apartment, like tiny little gremlins.

At 3am, she wakes in a cold sweat and gets out of bed to clean.

She steps out of her room and has to blink, eyes adjusting to the soft glow of the lamp by the couch. _Stupid_ , Monica thinks. She neglects the dishes for _one night_ and suddenly everything falls apart, and she’s leaving lamps on overnight to drive up her electric bill, and knowing her luck she’ll start leaving the heating on with the windows open too.

Except no, because her eyes fall on the couch, on Rachel sitting there cross-legged, staring blankly at the dark TV. Monica’s eyes dart towards the kitchen and the dishes are clean and stacked neatly on the drying rack, and she’s so grateful she could cry.

When Rachel doesn’t acknowledge her, Monica quietly shuffles over to her and places a hand on her shoulder.

“Huh?” Rachel’s snaps her head towards Monica, frowning slightly. “Mon? Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just – “ Monica gestures hopelessly towards the kitchen, then sits down. “What are you doing up?”

Rachel looks back at the TV, voice monotone when she replies “couldn’t sleep.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

Monica doesn’t know what she’s meant to say to that. Probably nothing, that’s probably what Rachel’s trying to do. Get her to shut up and go away.

Too bad Monica doesn’t know _how_ to shut up. “Are you –“

“It’s just – “ Rachel starts at the same time.

They look at each other in silence for a moment, before Monica waves for her to go ahead.

“She,” Rachel mutters, not making eye contact. “You said _she_.”

“Wh-“

“- Earlier, on the balcony. You and Phoebe were talking about Jay Hurley, and you. Said. _She_.”

The world collapses in on itself. It wasn’t meant to go like this, god, how could Monica have been so _dumb_?

She shuts her eyes, and takes a deep breath. Sure, why not. The _perfect_ time to have this conversation was the middle of the night with a hangover starting to form.

“I did, yes.”

“How long have you – “ Rachel shakes her head, standing up and pacing the living room. She clears her throat. “Liked… girls.”

“I don’t know,” Monica replies quietly. She does, but that’s another conversation for another time. “Junior year of college, maybe?” Lies, lies, more lies, but it’ll do. It’s technically true, anyway. That was the first time she _did_ anything about it.

Rachel spins around, staring at Monica wide-eyed. “We were still friends back then! We still spent every holiday together! How could you not _tell_ me?”

“I don’t _know_ , Rachel,” Monica snaps back, and she’s fighting so hard to keep it down but her temper is starting to get the better of her. “Maybe because we were in the same house as my _parents_ , and my _brother_ , and I was scared of being overheard? Or no, wait, maybe it was because all we ever did back then was talk about you!”

“Oh yeah? Fine, whatever, I was an asshole teenager, so was everyone!” Rachel takes a step back, hands shaking. “And what about now, huh? I’ve lived with you a month!”

Monica shrugs, looking away. “It never came up.”

“Bull _shit_ it never came up, Monica!” Rachel walks back to the couch, standing over Monica until she has no choice but to look up at her. “I thought we were _good_. I _thought_ I’d got my best friend back, and you’ve just been lying to me this whole time?”

Tears start to well up in Monica’s eyes. She grabs Rachel’s wrist. “Please,” she starts, voice cracking. “Don’t hate me.”

Rachel recoils as if she’s been slapped, all anger on her face being replaced with something softer. “No, honey. No, no.” She sits down, taking Monica’s hands in her own. “I don’t hate you, I’m just… hurt, that you didn’t think you could tell me.”

“It’s hard.”

“Yeah,” Rachel says, offering a tiny smile. She bumps their knees together. “So you’re… what, a lesbian? Like Carol?”

Monica nods.

“And Phoebe slept with the same girl as you?”

“Like, a million years ago, yeah,” Monica chuckles, wiping a stray tear away. “She’s bi.”

“Huh.” Rachel stares off into the distance for a moment, humming quietly. “I kissed a girl at a college party, once.”

“Not quite the same thing.”

“No, I guess not.”

 

*

 

Joey’s play is awful. Truly, truly awful. The plot is convoluted and has very little accuracy to Freud’s life, the score sounds like it was composed by a toddler, and the songs, dear god. The songs are a monstrosity.

But Joey, well. He’s stunning. There’s this spark in his eye that he always gets when he’s performing, and sure maybe his acting isn’t the _best_ Chandler’s ever seen, but to be fair the script doesn’t give him much to work with. And hey, his singing is leagues ahead of his cast mates.

Chandler doesn’t think it’s his bias talking when he says that Joey carries the show.

Ross spends the whole play staring at some girl across the theatre, and when it’s over and they’re waiting for Joey to get changed he doesn’t stop talking about her. Chandler dumps him on Phoebe and then pulls Monica to one side, because she’s been grinning all day and goddamn but he can’t figure out why.

They stand in a dark corner, voices low as they chat. “Are you high? Really, Mon, I love the guy but Joey’s play does _not_ warrant a smile like that.”

Monica swats at him and shakes her head, before nodding over at Rachel. “We had a fight last night.”

“Still not getting ‘super happy’ vibes from that.”

Monica looks back at him and beams. “I told her.”

“You tol-“ It takes a second for Chandler’s brain to catch up, but when it clicks into place it takes all his self-control not to pick Monica up and spin her around. He just pulls her into a bone-crushing hug instead. “You told her! See, I _knew_ there was nothing to worry about!”

She pulls away, raising her eyebrows. “She also figured out about you and Joey, by the way,” she says with a smirk. “I think she thinks we’re all part of some kinda gay conspiracy or something.”

Chandler snickers. “Well, as long as she doesn’t find out about our business with the illuminati…” he deadpans, which earns him another hit on the arm.

The background chatter increases, which can only mean the cast has come back out. Chandler sees Joey wave, so he quickly squeezes Monica’s shoulder and grins. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he says, and presses a kiss to her forehead before heading back to the stage.

Chandler’s head is buzzing, and he doesn’t even _notice_ that Ross has started trying to chat up the girl from before, or that a group of actors are surrounding Phoebe, fascinated by her. Fuck it.

He marches over to Joey, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him with all he’s got. Joey stumbles back at the force, hands fumbling for Chandler’s waist to steady himself. Nobody goes silent in shock, nobody stops what they’re doing to stare, the rest of the world melts away and _god_ it feels so good to just _exist._

They eventually pull apart when someone clears their throat behind them, Chandler dropping his arms down to Joey’s shoulders and ignoring whoever it was.

“What was that for?” Joey murmurs, smiling up at Chandler.

“Nothing, just – “ Chandler shakes his head fondly. “You’re amazing. _Awful_ play though, man.”

He finally turns around, keeping his arms around Joey, and sees the others huddled together watching them in amusement.

“You were in a play!”

“I didn’t know you could dance!”

Ross doesn’t say anything, scratching his head awkwardly as he looks around the theatre.

“So you guys liked it!” Joey shoots a playful glare at Chandler, as if to say ‘see, look, you’re wrong about this’.

They all share awkward looks, before cheerfully repeating their previous comments.

Chandler watches carefully as Joey tries not to look disappointed, giving him a quick squeeze on the hip.

“Oh, hey!” Rachel says, pulling out a beaten-up business card. “Some agent asked me to give you this, I think she wants to sign you?”

 “Based on _this_ play?” Phoebe asks, shutting up as soon as she sees Chandler glare at her.

Joey doesn’t notice, though, practically glowing with pride for the whole walk home.

Ross still says nothing.

By the time they get up to their apartments, Ross still hasn’t said anything, acting twitchy if Chandler so much as _looks_ at him. It’s worrying, to say the least.

He asks Ross to hang back in the hallway as the others go inside for drinks. To his surprise, Ross actually agrees.

Chandler starts speaking as soon as the door clicks shut. “You alright, man? You’ve been acting kinda… I don’t know. Weird.”

Ross just shrugs.

“Was it that girl? ‘Cause sorry, man, but she was _way_ out of your league, of _course_ she rejected you.”

He reaches out to clap a hand on Ross’ shoulder in consolation, but he flinches away.

“ _What_ , Ross? You gotta talk to me, man.”

Ross shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes. “I just – I wish you wouldn’t – “

Oh, fuck no. Absolutely not. Chandler grits his teeth. “What.”

“We were in _public_ , Chandler,” he hisses, finally meeting Chandler’s eyes. “And you’ve gotta go embarrass all of us by fucking _jumping_ him like you’re – like you were in some kinda _porno_!”

“ _He_ is my boyfriend and _your_ best friend, so I’d suggest you start fucking acting like it.” Rage starts boiling up inside Chandler, churning his insides. “It was a private. Party. And y’know, it’s funny, because you were the _only one_ who seemed to give a shit!”

“Maybe I’m the only one who _said_ anything, but –“

“ - When are you going to _accept_ that this isn't some temporary thing?"

Ross runs a hand over his face, already turning back towards the door "Do we have to have this discussion right-"

"I'm gay, Ross! I've always been gay! And I always will be, I can't just change!"

"I'm not asking you to! I _just_ mean that maybe you could stop - stop shoving it in everyone's faces!"

"How am I - " Chandler stops and paces away, running a hand over his face. "I talk about girls with you, I _never_ mention my sex life even when you keep going on and on about yours, I - fuck, Ross, I can't even kiss my boyfriend around you!"

"Congratulations, you just described what being a good friend is. Big whoop."

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out of my building, get out of my life. Now."

Ross just stands there staring at him, dumbfounded.

"I said _NOW_!"

Monica’s door swings open, a harried Rachel walking out. “I heard shouting, is everything…”

Chandler, hands on his hips, doesn’t take his eyes off Ross. “Everything’s fine, Rach. Ross was just leaving.”

He doesn’t turn to look at her until Ross has walked out, head hanging low. “Sorry you had to see that. Let’s just…” He gestures at the door, but Rachel stands in front of it, hands on her hips.

"Not until you tell me what the hell is going on, Bing."

Here’s the thing: Ross has had a crush on Rachel since middle school. And even now, even when his blood is boiling and all he wants to do is murder Ross with his bare hands, Chandler still feels like it would be breaking some kind of code to make him look bad in front of her.

But Rachel looks so frustrated that he worries she might cry if he doesn’t tell the truth, so he thinks. He sits down on the step, patting the spot next to him. Once Rachel’s sat down with him, he starts to talk again. “It used to be easier,” he starts, not entirely sure where he’s going with this. "He was always fine with the gay thing, in theory. Long as I didn't, y'know. _Shove it in his face_ , we were fine."

“Ah,” Rachel says, understanding dawning on her.

“Just – since the whole thing with Carol, y’know? It messed him up pretty badly, so we all just – toned it down.” That was an understatement. But Rachel hasn’t _really_ known them all that long, and she’s had a lot of information dumped on her recently, so it’d have to do.

Rachel looks like she’s about to say something, but the door swings open again. Chandler silently thanks God for the distraction. He takes it back when he sees it’s Joey walking through.

“You guys’ve been out here a while, what the hell is going on?” he exclaims, before his eyes fall on them.

Chandler wishes he couldn’t see through him so easily.

“Ross?”

Words fail. It feels like if he opens his mouth he’ll burst into tears, so he shakes his head in response.

Joey just keeps watching him.

After a few moments of silence, Chandler gives in and stands up, practically collapsing into Joey’s arms. He buries his face in his neck, choking out sobs as Joey patiently rubs his back. “Was it about…”

Chandler nods.

Joey tightens one arm around Chandler’s waist and moves the other up to stroke his hair, quietly shushing him. “How bad?”

“Bad,” Chandler forces out, hating himself for how he lets his voice crack. “Really bad.”

He feels Joey tense under him. Just slightly, before he chokes out a laugh. "So we're down a friend, big deal. He'll come around. And if he doesn't, hey. At least we've got the girls."

“I hate him,” Chandler mutters into Joey’s shoulder.

“No you don’t,” Joey replies, gently prying Chandler off him. “C’mon, Monica’s made tea.”

He holds the door open, smiling softly at Rachel as she heads back inside, Chandler shuffling after her.

“I hate tea.”

“No,” Joey says, rolling his eyes. “You don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this chapter started off meaning to be Rachel-centric and then just devolved into a whole bunch of people shouting at each other. C'est la vie, I guess. As always, please leave comments and kudos and I PROMISE I will try get another chapter out in a couple of weeks rather than months asjgsk. (p.s. come bug me on my tumblr @superangsty)


	4. Not that there's anything wrong with it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, in the last update: "next update will be in like two weeks!!!"  
> me, two months later:

“Helloooooo…” sing-songs a loud voice from the entrance, forcing Joey awake.

He groans and rolls over into Chandler’s empty spot, pulling a pillow over his head. “I’m not here!”

He’s considering never leaving his bed when the voice calls back “I brought coffee from downstairs!”

The smell of the coffee is already starting to waft over to the bedroom, so Joey grabs his robe and shuffles out, eyeing his cousin suspiciously.

Janice is, as always, the best-dressed person Joey knows (though Monica and Rachel would probably disagree). She’s got on a red blouse, the neckline tied up with a little bow, with high-waist black trousers and perfectly matching red lipstick.

He takes a sip of his coffee, before his brain wakes up with him and realises why she’s still looking at him expectantly. Shit.

Joey practically runs back into his bedroom, rummaging around in his drawers to retrieve a plastic tiara he’d found at the dollar store, as well as a gift bag that was clearly repurposed from an old grocery bag.

He carefully places the tiara on top of her perfectly coiffed hair, which she corrects as soon as he’s pulled back.

“Happy birthday, Jan.”

“Thank you,” she replies with a soft smile, then looks pointedly at the gift bag. “That present better be for me.”

Joey’s eyes are still too tired to actually roll, so he hands it to her without complaint. “My present comes later, this one’s from Ma.”

He’s not completely sure she’s actually listening to him, given that she’s already pulled chocolates out of the bag and started stuffing them in her face. “That woman is a saint,” she says between bites, drawing the bag closer to herself when Joey tries to grab a piece.

“Get dressed, by the way,” she adds, waving towards the bedroom. “We’ve got a busy day.”

“Oh?” No auditions, nobody to hang out with whilst they’re all at their stupid jobs, and unless the clock was broken it was still several hours before the reservations Chandler had made for them to take Janice out to dinner. In fact, for the first time in a while Joey was so _not_ busy that he’d been planning on catching up on all the shows he’d DVRed.

Janice opens up her huge purse, rummaging through it for her notebook. “You’re taking me shopping,” she says, reading from a carefully written list, “And then I’ve got us tickets for the Phantom matinee, then we’re meeting Chandler for dinner.”

Joey tries to interrupt and say that he’s already _seen_ Phantom, and so has she, but she raises a manicured finger to stop him. “It’s my birthday, I get to choose the musical.”

He raises his hands in surrender and backs into the bedroom to grab his clothes. Generally, it takes Joey about ten seconds to get dressed: pull on some jeans, pull on a shirt, sorted. He’s done this and is pretty much ready to get on with the day when he spots something on his bedside table and pauses.

Chandler’s left a few notes there, about $100, along with a little piece of paper with ‘have a nice day! :)’ scribbled on it. Joey’s chest tightens.

Joey has his own money. He does. Sure, work can be a bit come-and-go, and most of his income goes to rent and bills, but still. He can afford a _day out_. He doesn’t need charity.

He checks in his pockets, opens up his wallet. In total he finds $23, which, yeah. Will last him to about Times Square.

He tries not to think too hard when he grabs the cash and shoves it into his wallet, before plastering on a smile and walking out the room.

 

*

 

“Miss, you can’t come back here – “

“I _said_ it’s fine, look I’ll just be two min – “

“ – I heard you, but the kitchen isn’t open to customers – “

“ – I’m not a customer - MONICA! Monica, this jerk won’t let me through!”

Monica considers sinking behind the counter to pretend she’s not there, because everyone in the kitchen is now staring at her and she really, _really_ wishes she didn’t exist right now.

But Phoebe’s looking at her with wild eyes, and something better be really fucking wrong, or Monica may have to kill her. She walks over and places a hand on Phoebe’s shoulder, guiding her back out into the hall.

She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the wall and waits for Phoebe to explain herself, which she doesn’t.

“Well?”

Phoebe looks at Monica, biting her lip. “I thought you finished after lunch, why are you still here?”

Christ, okay. Nothing urgent. “Lunch isn’t over for another hour, Pheebs,” she replies. “What do you want?”

“Um.” Phoebe looks around, wringing her hands. “I just – I wanted some coffee. But I couldn’t find anyone.”

“You know you can drink coffee alone, right?”

Phoebe’s eyes go wide. “I _can’t_ ,” she says, and Monica notices the slight tremble in her arms for the first time.

“Fine, look, come back to the break room, okay?” she starts shepherding Phoebe through. “I’ll get you something to eat, then when I sign off in an hour we can go, alright?”

Her co-workers pretend not to stare at her for the remainder of her shift, so when the clock hits three she feels absolutely no guilt in grabbing Phoebe and bolting, not even stopping to change out of her work clothes.

They don’t go to Central Perk, they grab tar-like coffee from a stand near the restaurant, because Phoebe wants to walk in the park and Monica can’t be bothered to head back to the village, anyway.

It’s a gorgeous November morning, the cold still more refreshing than biting, and there’s not a cloud in the sky as they stroll through the park together in silence.

Once the coffee cups are emptied and thrown out, Monica finds them a bench to sit on.

“Phoebe.”

“Uh-huh?” Phoebe asks brightly, turning to face her.

Monica’s known Phoebe for almost four years now. She _lived_ with her for three, and yet sometimes when they’re talking she could swear they’ve never met. And it’s not just the airhead act she’s always putting on, it’s her scary ability to switch between personas for different people, or to turn off any feelings she may be having.

They’re best friends, though, and Monica’s not really sure what Phoebe’s trying to prove here. Who she’s trying to prove it to.

“What was that, earlier?”

Phoebe looks away. “Nothing, nothing. I just lost myself for a minute there.” She looks up at the sky and starts swatting at it, defending herself from some invisible attacker. “I think Tori, you remember Tori? She got stabbed to death in that drug thing last year? I think she’s been hanging around me again.”

“Phoebe.”

She stops, starts to speak, and then stops again. “Look, it’s Tuesday, okay? Normally Ross comes by and takes me for coffee on Tuesdays, but I guess all this bullshit with Chandler – “

“ – You _know_ it’s not bullshit, Pheebs.”

“I know! But he didn’t show up today and I - I didn’t think it would affect him and me, you know? Like, okay, he can be insensitive, and he gets angry way too easily, right? But at the same time, he – he’s _such_ a good guy, he’s never been anything but sweet to me and I get it, y’know, I get why Chandler’s doing this, and why you’re all going along with him,” she stops for a second, furiously wiping away a tear. “But I miss my friend.”

“I get it,” Monica says, but she kind of doesn’t.

Ross has never exactly been nice to her. He spent their entire childhood bullying her; calling her names and trying to beat her up. Even now, even when she feeds him and supports him through all his drama, treats him like a friend when all she wants to do is scream in his face, he’s not grateful.

There’s always those snide comments, the smug look he shoots her whenever she goes for a second helping. There’s the way his shoulders get tense when Joey and Chandler stand to close together, or when he talks about Carol.

And the way he fawns over Rachel, _god_. It’s like he thinks they don’t all see exactly what he’s trying to do. It’s like he thinks he’s entitled to her after so many years of supposedly pining, which to Monica had always looked a lot more like he and his friends bullying her and spreading vicious rumours all through high school.

To be honest, Monica would be happy if she never saw him again. If she never saw him near Rachel again.

“I’m not in love with him, you know,” Phoebe starts, so out of nowhere that Monica almost chokes. “But I did – I mean, there was a time when I really thought I’d end up marrying him.”

Okay, so he’s nice to Phoebe. He never shouts at her, or teases her, but Monica’s known him for twenty-six years. He’s gentle the way he would be with a child, always right on the edge of impatience but never quite getting there.

“Huh.”

Phoebe shakes her head. “Let’s just forget it.” She jumps up from the bench, shaking her arms and legs to warm up. “You wanna go watch a movie?”

Monica’s about to say yes when she glances at her watch. “Fuck, Pheebs, you know I’d love to, but I told Carol I’d go shopping with her – thanksgiving stuff, y’know, ‘cause Susan’s a vegetarian and I know some good recipes, and…” She trails off and looks at Phoebe, who somehow looks simultaneously amused and upset.

“You done?” She asks with a smirk, and any trace of disappointment disappears from her face.

Monica nods.

“Have fun, dude. Dinner at your place?”

Another nod. “Girls night, Joey and Chandler are out.”

Phoebe gives her a quick hug and breezes away, calling “later nerd” behind her.

 

*

 

Chandler knows he’s in trouble when Shelly walks into the break room and points at him. He’s sitting there, enjoying a rare lunchtime bitch session with Susan over instant Ramen, when she arrives and sits down with them as if this is a normal thing she does.

Okay, so it might be a normal thing she does. Chandler does _have_ guy friends, he swears he does. There’s, uh. Well there’s not Ross, but there are _others_. He’s not just running a Harem of girls.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he greets, and then waits for her to finish draining her coffee before she speaks.

“Yeah, hi. Chandler, listen, I have found the _perfect_ date for you.”

Chandler tries to interrupt her, but he can’t get any sounds to come out of his mouth. Susan’s face spreads into a wide grin, and she leans back in her chair as if to get a better view of the scene.

“Okay, he is smart, he’s cute, has a _great_ sense of humour,”

Time stops. Chandler can’t move, but his heart is in overdrive, feeling like it might burst out of his chest. She’s not meant to know, _nobody is meant to know._

“H – He’s a he?”

“Well yeah,” she replies, and then it’s her turn to freeze, looking frantically between him and Susan. “You’re not… You’re not!”

Susan has covered her mouth to hide her laughter. Chandler stomps on her foot, ignoring the glare that earns him.

“Um.”

“I just – god, I’m so sorry,” she says, standing up and backing away from the table, narrowly avoiding crashing into the counter. Another flash of panic goes across her face, and she waves a hand at Susan. “Not that it’s something to apologise for, I mean – “

Susan shrugs, because nothing ever gets to her and besides, it looks like she’s having way more fun than she ought to be.

“Okay, I’m just gonna go… die in a hole now, okay. I’ll see you guys later.”

When she’s finally gone, Susan bursts out laughing, clapping a hand on Chandler’s shoulder. “ _God_ , I love straight people.”

Chandler forces out a huff of laughter, mind still racing. “Thanks for that Susan, really, could you _be_ any more subtle?”

He could quit. If Shelly knows, if she figured it out, then others probably did too. If it got to any of the higher-ups then any hopes he had for progression in this shit stain of a career would vanish, and he’d be stuck in that cubicle for life, if he wasn’t fired.

He has bills to pay, though, and finding a new job is just too much effort. So what else is there? He could just own it, it’s 1994 after all, most people wouldn’t care. But again, thoughts of cubicles and unemployment, so no.

He could lie and tell her he’s straight. It’s the most effective option, after all. Rather than just keep his personal life quiet, he could just straight-up (ha) lie. But he’s not a liar.

Which leaves him with a whole load of… nothing. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how she knows.

Susan runs her hand over his shoulders, squeezing them gently. “Nobody cares, Chan. It’s fine.”

“ _Everyone_ cares,” Chandler replies, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so tired.”

“Forget about it. You’re going out tonight, have a nice time! Then tomorrow, act like nothing happened. I promise, Chandler, it’ll blow over so fast you won’t remember it in a week.”

“Sure.”

Chandler stands up and goes to toss his empty pot of noodles in the bin. He gives Susan an awkward pat on the head, and starts to back out the door.

“Don’t leave me hanging so long next time. Oh and Chandler, before you go – Carol’s been lonely and hormonal, promise you’ll come over to ours this week? Joey too, obviously.”

Still thinking too fast to really reply, Chandler just gives her a thumbs up as he turns around and leaves.

*

 

“So I say, I say ‘Marjorie, you know those cookies are for the clients not us’, y’know, ‘cause she was eating them like a pig, and then _she_ says ‘just go get more from the store’, like the _audacity_ of that woman, can you believe?”

Joey and Janice are early, so they’re walking slowly to the restaurant, trailing along the small cloud of balloons Joey’d bought.

“Like, okay, Marge, sure, like you don’t know I spend an hour _every day_ baking those cookies to perfection, because I am not _cheap_ like her and want to sell these homebuyers an _authentic experience._ ”

Really, Joey had stopped listening shortly after Janice was done listing all the famous people she’d met since they last saw each other (there were four), and complaining about the new office she’s been set up in. He likes it, not having any pressure to hold up his end of the conversation, and he knows Janice likes that he never tried to interrupt her, so it’s quite ideal.

Chandler’s not at the restaurant yet, so they go in and sit at the bar while they wait. Janice orders a martini, Joey a diet coke.

Finally, for the first time all day, Janice slows down. “So Joey, how’s life treating you?”

“Yeah, good,” he says. He _thinks_ it’s good. It’s good, right? “ _Freud!_ finished the other day, and an agent signed me out of it, which is pretty freakin’ awesome. Uhh, might have a modelling gig lined up, we’re not talking to Ross anymore, and oh yeah! There was this whole thing with a thumb so now me and Chandler have Rangers season tickets!”

Janice blinks. “That’s, uh, that’s great, Joey.” She takes a sip of her martini, which turns into one sip, then two and three and suddenly the glass is empty. “Can we circle back round to the Ross thing?”

“Do we have to?” Joey groans, wishing he’d just kept his mouth shut. “There was a thing, and now there’s not anymore, I – “ There’s a tap on his shoulder. “Chandler!”

Chandler smiles and starts to duck his head as if to kiss him, but freezes halfway. Instead, he claps Joey on the shoulder and goes to kiss Janice on the cheek, handing her a bunch of flowers as he does. “Hey, birthday girl. _You_ are a sight for sore eyes.”

She preens, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and sniffing at the flowers. “Thank you.”

They follow a waiter to their table, Chandler politely asking Janice about what she and Joey had been doing today, and about why the hell she’s walking around with so many balloons.

Janice sits down first, but Joey grabs Chandler before he can slide into the booth, because he’s looking kinda twitchy (which, okay, he normally does these days. Doesn’t mean Joey’s stopped noticing.), and Janice is busy reading the menu anyway. He shoots him a look that says _you okay?_ Chandler nods, but then he mutters “I’ll tell you later,” in Joey’s ear, which doesn’t exactly ease his mind.

 They sit down and order, and Joey tries his best to ignore the prices on the menu, and Janice tries her best to pretend she’s not waiting for her present. Chandler doesn’t really try his best at anything, because that’s not what he Does, but he does crack an awful lot of jokes.

 

*

 

Rachel has moved the ottoman. Rachel thinks it looks nicer there. Rachel thinks it’ll give the gang more space to sit, because it’s not like they all need to be facing the TV. Rachel will probably be murdered tonight.

Joey and Chandler are out, Phoebe’s gone to pick up some snacks from the bodega, and Monica is standing across from Rachel looking like she’s having an aneurysm.

“Just – just _try_ it back where it was, just to see?”

“No, Monica, I like it here.”

“I do too! But, but…” She pauses, looking for an argument. “But we don’t even need more seats, Rach. Look! One, two, three, four, five,” she says, pointing to each spot as she counts. “That’s _exactly_ enough!”

Rachel almost stops her to say she’s a person short, until she remembers that the _gang_ is a person short right now. Maybe _that’s_ what this whole thing is about, she reasons, so she raises her hands in surrender.

Phoebe walks back in and gasps. “Whoa, you moved the green ottoman? And you’re still _alive_?”

Okay, so maybe it’s just about the furniture.

Monica, who’s trying to push it back into place with her legs, jumps away and glares at Phoebe. “What are you talking about? I’m good, I’m cool! I let you move stuff all the _time_ when you lived here?”

“Ha, yeah, you let me move my plants.” Phoebe grins and addresses Rachel. “And she only let me do it when their placement didn’t fit her theme.”

Somehow the ottoman lands up back in its original place anyway.

They’re sitting on the sofa, each with a glass of wine in hand and sharing a bowl popcorn. Some John Hughes movie is playing in the background, because nothing says girls night in like reliving your 80s teen drama by watching 80s teen films.

“You know, I used to have an outfit _just_ like that,” Rachel says, gesturing at Molly Ringwald on the screen.

Monica rolls her eyes. “You had every fucking outfit in her look book, Rach.” She takes another sip of her wine. “I don’t know, though. They didn’t look right on you.”

A pillow flies into her face.

“Hey!”

“That’s not a bad thing! I just think you looked better when you were _you_ , not copying someone else.”

Rachel looks at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a minute in silence, staring at each other, only the sound of the film in the background.

“You know,” Phoebe says, breaking the quiet. “When _I_ was sixteen, I used to wear these really great oversized sweatshirts that I found in the dumpster, and one time, I wore scrubs that I stole from a hospital and people thought I was an intern!”

 She laughs as if that’s a fun story, and Rachel can’t help but laugh along with her; it’s infectious.

The next interruption to their movie marathon is when the door swings open for Chandler to burst in, raising his arms and announcing “Ladies and ladies, I… am a ho – “ he giggles at his own misstep, before trying again. “a homosexual, and _this,_ ” he swings around to wave a hand at Joey, who had walked in behind him grimacing “is my _gay lover_!”

Joey points at himself. “Not gay,” he says, shrugging. “Technically.”

Rachel is enthralled. She’s only been in the city a couple of months, so this is the first time she’s seeing any of her new friends really, properly drunk. She’d have thought Chandler would be more of an angry drunk, for some reason, and whilst there is some of that energy crackling around him, he’s more clumsy than anything.

There’s a bang on the floor, Mr. Heckles again. Chandler jumps up and stomps onto the floor in response, stumbling over on his landing into Joey’s arms.

Monica sighs and gets up from the couch, going to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. “Janice’s birthday go well?”

Joey carefully guides Chandler to and makes sure he actually drinks some of the water before responding. “It actually did,” he says, fingers carding through Chandler’s hair in what looked like a subtle attempt to get him to keep his head up. “This,” he gestures at Chandler’s general state. “I have no idea what this is. Think something happened at work. You got any bread?”

In the blink of an eye the bread has left its container and been placed in Chandler’s hand, who suddenly rears back to life and accidentally throws things across the room.

“Y’know,” he slurs, wagging his finger as though he’s making a fantastic point. “What happened to Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, huh? Huh?! Not everyone is gay, _Shelly_.”

Rachel doesn’t know a Shelly. She looks around the room, but Phoebe just shakes her head and shrugs too.

“Just because _Carol_ is gay, and Susan is gay, and I’m gay, and,” he points at Joey. “You’re gay, and _you’re_ gay,” He points at Monica, and then Phoebe. “And you’re gay, and you’re – “

His finger has landed on Rachel, and her breath hitches. She’s not. And who cares, anyway? What does it matter what Chandler says, for god’s sake, he’s drunk! What does it matter what he thinks of her?

“Well, you’re not.” She breathes a sigh of relief. And then freezes because _why is she relieved_? She _knows_ she’s not.

“But still! Just because everyone’s gay _doesn’t mean_ everyone is gay! Just because I’m gay doesn’t _mean_ I’m gay, _Shelly_.”

Finally, he flops back into his chair, looking around the room like a disgruntled toddler as he shoves a piece of bread into his mouth.

Joey starts to rub his shoulders, humming softly as he does, and eventually Chandler looks like he’s starting to calm down.

“Let’s go to bed, babe. C’mon.” Joey tries to nudge Chandler out of the chair. Chandler just snorts.

“I’m not going to bed with _you_ , mister fun ruiner, mister…” Chandler stands up, wobbling, and tries to grab Joey’s shoulder. “Mister ssssexy, you know, I love you?”

Joey turns bright red and glances around at the girls. “ _Chandler_.”

“ _Whaaaaatttt_ , I do!” He starts humming a tune, then pushes Joey’s nose with his finger and sings “I love you, yes I do,” he stops again, slumping against Joey. “I _do_. Gonna… gon’ marry you, but we can’t ‘cause America hates gays!”

“Chandler, _please_ ,” Joey bites out, the blush spreading up to his hairline as he tries desperately to herd Chandler out of the apartment.

“Which is _stupid_ ,” Chandler shouts, as Joey practically tries to drag him out the door. “Because _everyone is gay!_ ”

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving the apartment in silence.

“Sooo,” Phoebe slowly puts her wine glass down on the coffee table. “I think that’s enough drinking for the night.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! As always, please leave comments and kudos, it means the world to me!! and go to my tumblr, @superangsty, to have a go at me for not having a clear update schedule (seriously.. people yelling at me on the internet is the best way to motivate me to do stuff...)


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